


Under The Covers

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 'Scary House' Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Post-Canon, Yahaba Is Captain, Yahaba's scared of storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: A ton of lighting and thunder, a scared-to-death Yahaba, a strong yet awkward Kyoutani, and of course, a shared bed because storms can't happen without two teenage boys sharing a moment under the covers.





	Under The Covers

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot I didn't post this here. I got a [request](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com/post/175917308366/prompt-kyoutani-and-yahaba-being-forced-to-share) on the blog a few months ago, and since KyouHaba deserve all the love, I thought it'd be nice to post this fic here as well.

Yahaba is about to die.

If it’s of a heart attack or in the hands of a bloody youkai, he doesn’t know, but if Yahaba has to take another step in this darkness, he’s sure he won’t make it out alive.

“Watari?”

Watari doesn’t answer. Yahaba has lost him some corridors ago, right when the lights had gone out on them. The storm has been raging for hours, now, but its intensity hasn’t decreased on the least. Yahaba’s heart will explode if another lighting flashes on him.

Taking in a sharp breath of courage, Yahaba keeps walking forward. He’s not sure where he is, exactly, but if his memory doesn’t betray him, the next door should have some of Aoba’s players.

Yahaba’s heart is beating out of rhythm by the time he knocks on it, thunder crashing somewhere on his back. There’s sweat running down his spine, no matter the unraged wind hitting the windows. Something cold touches his nape. Yahaba thinks, _It’s a breeze, it’s a fucking breeze, it’s a goddamn_ —

The door opens right when Yahaba’s turning around and a lighting lights up the outside, shaping a shadow that should _not_ be there at all.

Yahaba shrieks so loud he scares himself, and he jumps into the room and into whoever has opened the door with enough strength to throw them both to the ground.

“Close the door! Close the door, close—˝

“Shut up!”

Yahaba’s fingers dig on Kyoutani’s arm, —of course Kyoutani had to be the one to witness Yahaba’s worst panicked moment—, and doesn’t let go even when Kyoutani leans forward and kicks the door closed.

Another thunder resounds around them, and Yahaba can’t hold the little whimper that leaves his lips.

“You scared of storms or what?”

Yahaba frowns and glares at him, ( _glare_ might be too nice a word, for Yahaba’s squinting, trying to make out where Kyoutani’s face really is).

“It’s not the storm, I—” _don’t tell him you felt something, don’t tell him you felt something, don’t_ — “There was… something… outside.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Seriously?”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” Kyoutani sits beside him and grabs his wrist. “Let go, dammit, you’re gonna make me bleed.”

“There was something,” Yahaba repeats, and there’s panic in his words now. “I felt… I felt it, okay?”

“You’re full of shit.”

Yahaba growls at him. “Yeah? If you’re so sure there’s nothing, let’s go!”

Kyoutani snorts. Yahaba doesn’t see him clearly enough to hit him, although he wants to very much. “This is _my_ room. Don’t wanna step outside for shit, thanks.”

“Oh, so much for the brave stance, huh.”

“I’m not scared,” Kyoutani groans. “Whatcha doing here, anyway?”

“I’m looking for Watari. He got lost when we—”

Another thunder, this time so close Yahaba’s bones clatter. He’s not aware he’s grabbing Kyoutani’s arm and has his nose buried in his shoulder till the echo vanishes and his heartbeat falls into a regular pace.

“You _are_ scared of storms,” Kyoutani says, amused.

“Shut up.”

But this time Kyoutani doesn’t untangle Yahaba’s fingers from his arm, no matter how hard Yahaba’s still holding him. Kyoutani’s pulse is constant under Yahaba’s hand, warm and solid and real.

Yahaba doesn’t want to let go, but the lights are still off, Watari’s still lost, the storm—

“What were you doing outside, then?”

“Trying to find the fuses.”

“Do you even know where they are?”

“Obviously not.”

“That’s pretty dumb, then.”

“What—”

Another lighting, another thunder. Yahaba controls better the sound of pain this time, maybe because Kyoutani’s hand covers Yahaba’s, and Yahaba’s heart skips a beat for reasons not related to the stupid storm.

It’s not fair. Yahaba oughtn’t be feeling safe in a room with Kyoutani, of all people. Not when—

“Scared of storms, scared of ghost, starts something without knowing how the fuck it’s supposed to happen… really, how did you manage to become captain?”

Yahaba snarls. “You little piece of—”

They both see it, this time. Yahaba knows, because Kyoutani’s heart goes from steady to mad crazy in a second under his fingers, his muscles tense and cold on his grip.

It’s just a second, the lighting showing them the shadowed figure of something, — _someone_ — on the door from outside the window, but it’s enough to make Yahaba want to crawl under the tatami and die in piece.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”

“That— What?”

“WE ARE GOING TO DIE!” Yahaba screams, all composure lost, nose buried in Kyoutani’s shoulder. “Oh, god, we are going to die! I knew I shouldn’t have let Watari convince me to book this shitty place!”

“Calm the fuck down.”

“You calm down! We are gonna get _murdered_!”

Kyoutani grabs Yahaba’s arms and shakes him, but it only makes Yahaba’s panic worsen, because as soon as they turn he can see the window, and what looks like a hanging body right outside. The shriek he lets out probably deafens Kyoutani, but what surely chokes him is the deadly grip Yahaba has now on his neck.

He can’t bear staring at anything, so he closes his eyes and lets Kyoutani’s warmth be the only real thing in his world.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

“Can you fucking calm down?”

“I already told you I can’t!”

“God, you are so fucking annoying.”

Yahaba wants to say, _I know that, I know that, you don’t need to remind me, I know I’m annoying and I always yell at you and that you hate me, probably, and that you wish it’d been anyone else who’d stumbled into your room_.

But what leaves his mouth is, “I can’t move.”

Yahaba waits a second for the mocking remark, but Kyoutani only sighs deeply and soundly. “I really don’t understand how you made it this far.”  
It stings, but Yahaba’s lips are sealed for all he’s worth. He shakes his head, Kyoutani’s groan heavier than any thunder so far.

“You saw it too, though, didn’t you.”

Kyoutani stiffens under Yahaba. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yahaba wants to yell at him, _I’m not crazy! I know you saw!_ , but a part of him relishes the fact Kyoutani’s not losing his shit, too.

“I need to go find the fuses, but—”

“Pointless. It’s the middle of the night, anyway. If they aren’t asleep, fuck them.”

That brings another question into the matter.

“I can’t—”

“Move, yeah. So you say.”

“Stop being so condescending.”

“At least I’m not laughing at you. Be thankful.”

“Thankful!” Yahaba leans back, eyes open. He’s close enough to Kyoutani, they’ve been in the dark long enough that he can see the shape of his nose, the sneer on his lips, the light in his eyes. They are close enough Yahaba can feel his breath. “Oh yes, my big brave ace, you’ve been nothing but _helpful_.”

“Tone the sarcasm down.”

“ _You_ tone it down!”

Maybe Yahaba’s mental capacities aren’t in their best shape, his retorts nothing short of childish and typical of what one would expect of a ten-year-old. Kyoutani arches an eyebrow, and somehow his hands shift and find Yahaba’s waist.

The blush has nothing to do with that. The rise in his body temperature is just a reaction to the closed room, to the fact they are burning oxygen faster, being this close.

“You feeling better?”

“No!”

“You are nothing but work, you know.”

“I am– Seriously? Says the man who can’t even _listen_ to what I say when we practice.”

“That’s not true. I do listen, I just ignore most of your orders, because they suck.”

“That’s it,” Yahaba growls, a hand on his hip, the other pointing at Kyoutani’s face. “You are reckless and suck at teamwork and you believe your perception of a game is better than anyone else’s.”

“So do you.”

“I am the captain!”

Kyoutani huffs. “And so what? That doesn’t mean you know what’s best for the team all the time, or what are the best plays in every single match.”

That’s true. It hurts, but it is true, although Yahaba has been trying to ignore that same fact since he became captain three months ago, trying to fill the space Oikawa had left behind.

“Take that expression off your face,” Kyoutani growls, and Yahaba blinks in surprise. “I’m not attacking you, don’t take it personally.”

“It feels pretty personal.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“Really? Because when you say—˝

Lighting and thunder, all together, happen three times in a row, with no break in between for Yahaba’s sanity to find any peace. He makes a strangled sound of despair, his hands again in Kyoutani, the only real thing in the world right now, and by the time it passes, he’s sweating as if he’d just played a five sets match.

“Your heart is beating like crazy.”

“I’m not feeling very good right now.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

“I can’t sleep with this storm going on!”

“I’ll sleep with you,” Kyoutani muters, already shifting away from Yahaba’s grip.

“What?”

“You heard me. Bring your ass here, come on.”

“I don’t wanna—˝

But the next thunder has Yahaba on his hands and knees, crawling to the futon in less than a second. Kyoutani’s already there, and he pulls the blanket over their heads, covering them from the darkness, the rain and the light.

They’ll probably have to take it off soon, but Yahaba’s thankful for the heavy air, Kyoutani’s warmth and the protective veil they build around him.

“Thanks.”

Kyoutani shrugs. They are nose to nose, their hands almost brushing. Yahaba’s pinky finger twitches, so close to Kyoutani’s he’s tempted of tangling them, of holding him. It’s dumb. Kyoutani is Yahaba’s main source of frustration, of anger, of hurt. Sometimes, when they play something magic happens and they sync, and they know what the other’s thinking without words, and they just become this tandem of ace and setter, of partners, Yahaba has trouble imagine on his own.

But those times are few and hard to arise. The trick of their happening it’s just a mystery to Yahaba’s eager senses, so he usually ends up mad at Kyoutani for not filling up all his expectations.

“You okay?”

“Am I a bad captain?” Yahaba whispers, the words leaving his lips without his permission. It’s too late to back down now, so he says, “Am I a bad captain _to you_?”

“What’s with that question?”

“Answer me.”

Kyoutani shifts closer, and their fingers touch. Yahaba’s heart stutters in his chest. All his attention focuses on his hand, on the spot where they are touching, on the skin that could be touching his next.

“I think you’re a good captain, but you need to listen more. You’re not Oikawa, you know.”

“I know,” Yahaba says, hurt, hurt, hurt, because that’s what Kyoutani does, hurt Yahaba with his power, with his presence, with his truths.

“I’m not saying it to be mean,” Kyoutani presses, because he’s a sharp bastard as well. “Not being Oikawa it’s not a bad thing.”

“So you say.”

A thunder echoes around them. Yahaba flinches, unbidden, still scared of the shadows even under the covers of this little world Kyoutani has made for him. Another thunder is crashing over them when Kyoutani says, “Come here”, and grabs Yahaba so his head rests on his arm, his nose in his chest.

Yahaba doesn’t bother hiding his fear, nor does he pretend it to be an accident when his arms cross from his body to Kyoutani’s, circling his waist. A soft hand finds his hair, and brushes it, soothing his fears away.

“Just go to sleep, would you? No point on going to bed if you keep talking bullshit.”

“Fuck you.”

Kyoutani’s muscles move under his palms. _He’s so warm_. And he smells good, too.

“Kyoutani.”

“Mmmh?”

Yahaba has so many things to say.  _You are a jerk anyway. This was nice. Did you really not see anything? Please, help me be a better captain. God, you smell so good. Can we do this tomorrow too? Please, please, can you let me sleep with you every night we stay in this awful place? Would that be okay? Would you like that? Do you like me?_

_Does this mean something to you too?_

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Just spit it out.”

“No.”

“Goddammit, Yahaba, I swear—”

Another thunder. Yahaba tightens his arms, buries himself in Kyoutani’s body. Their legs tangle. Yahaba maybe whimpers in fear.

“I hate storms.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“I can’t sleep, even if—”

“Not enough, huh?”

Yahaba’s too lost to the never stopping fall of thunder after thunder, so loud now it’s as if trees are being crashed by a divine force in this same room. He feels small and meaningless, his mind a chaos of scenarios of death and shadows in walls and scary tales, and so he says, “It’s not enough distraction, okay? I can’t play deaf. I can’t ignore—“

“God, you are fucking difficult, aren’t you.”

Yahaba means to answer him, —the banter is keeping him sane,— but he has no chance to word anything else because as soon as he leans his head back to growl at Kyoutani, Kyoutani is there, there, there everywhere, and he’s looking at him with enough intensity to make the world just vanish and he—

Yahaba lets himself be kissed, because the roar of his blood in his ears finally quiets the crazy nature around him. He lets himself be kissed a second time because Kyoutani has the most beautiful eyes up close, and a third because Yahaba might have dreamt of kissing Kyoutani more times than he cares to admit.

They are chaste and short and dry, but Yahaba doesn’t care. He wants Kyoutani to keep kissing him, just like this, for the rest of the damn night.

But Kyoutani stops at the fourth time, so red Yahaba knows he’s blushing by how hot his face feels.

“Better, now?”

“No,” Yahaba says, just to piss him off. “Kiss me again.”

“What? No! I was just— I was just distracting you! Shut up, I’m not kissing you again.”

“Fine, then I will.”

Kyoutani lets himself be kissed too, although Yahaba doesn’t pretend to know his reasons. It’s rougher, this time, because Yahaba has little to no self-control at this point. Kyoutani’s hands are gentle on Yahaba’s face, and his lips are gentler still, and by the time the storm clears off, Yahaba has memorized Kyoutani’s lips by heart.

It’s funny, when Kyoutani says, “Now you owe me,” as if the little paradise he’s built for Yahaba under his covers were nothing but a one-sided favor.

But what really brings a laugh to Yahaba’s lips is when he answers, “Fine. I’ll make it up to you tonight,” and Kyoutani, beat red, chuckles with the softest of expressions, and nods.

**Author's Note:**

> ꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱♡
> 
> I love KyouHaba and they are so tender and honestly, I just want to write three hundred fics about them being cute and awkward and dumb.
> 
> You can find me and send requests if you'd like [here](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com/).


End file.
